


At the end

by Butterfish



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Short One Shot, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 21:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfish/pseuds/Butterfish
Summary: When Alfred was seven years old, a Seer came to the palace and told him how the world would end. Then Arthur showed up.





	At the end

When Alfred was seven years old, a Seer came to the palace. At the evening banquet, he entertained the guests with silly games and predictions, but when it came time for him to speak to the young prince, he requested a private room.

“Young sire, please note these words,” he urged, “for they will serve you well in time. Everything must end. Without an end there cannot be a beginning, for time does not carry on without cause. But do not fear, for even the darkest of nights can be made brighter with fire, and no king is destined to face the Maker alone.” He asked for his hand and when he held it out, he placed an inkwell in his palm. It was made of smooth glass and bright red.

“What is this?” he asked, but he held a single finger to his lips and smiled.

“Young sire, some questions can only be answered with time. You must remain patient.” He then dragged the hood of the cloak further down his face, stood up and left the room. Somehow, he must have slipped out of the palace unseen, for no one ever saw him again. But his words stuck with Alfred, in particular when his father asked him what the Seer had foretold.

“He spoke of the end of time,” Alfred said, and the guests quieted. Not a single lady nor lord spoke a word, and they watched the old King as he reached for Alfred, pressed his face to his chest, and wept.

Alfred felt shame, but when he asked, “Did I speak in error?” his father would not reply but merely held him and cried, and he didn’t let go until the last guest had left and the sun had started to rise.

“You shall have a Queen,” his father said as they stood on the balcony, watching the red light cascade across the sky.

“But there has been no queen for centuries,” Alfred protested.

“The end is marked by a Queen,” was his reply, “and at the end, the Queen shall stand. It is not for us to decide when. Alas, you must have a Queen.”

This worried the young prince. He had grown up with the tales of Queens and to him they seemed like strange creatures. They were known to be magical and powerful, but also shy, and they would not appear before their King unless necessary for the future of the world. As far back as he could read in the history books, no Queen had appeared. But the tales told to him at night were frightening. They spoke of war, and blood, and chaos, and death. He realised that even if the world was saved, this did not mean the saviour of all good.

But as time passed, the words of the Seer seemed to disappear from his mind. As Alfred grew stronger, as he took on the responsibilities of the King, as he sat on the throne, it was almost like a dream from his childhood. His land prospered. His people were satisfied. There had been no war in his lifetime. What a King would linger on the end when the aura of content embraced his days?

Then, the Queen appeared.

One day, there was silence, then the next, the townspeople despaired. For in the throne hall Arthur stood. He was a young lad, barely twenty, and he carried little weight on his bones. But his green eyes were strong and his voice certain when he pronounced, “I am the Queen, please bring me my King.”

There was no way to be certain. The Queen carried no marks, had no distinct bloodline, no known description that could be checked and assured genuine. To Alfred, Arthur seemed a boy from the village trying his luck at a life in royalty, but his people believed him to be Queen. As he sat on the throne and watched him, he wondered how Arthur had managed to make an impression in less than a day.

“Your words scare them,” he concluded, “You speak of being a Queen, yet I have no way of knowing for certain.”

“I apologise, but you mistake my words,” Arthur said. He walked closer to Alfred, his gaze never slipping to the guards as they circled closer to keep the two apart. “I did not claim to be a Queen. I know to be  _your_  Queen. I am here to mark the end.”

“Those are the words,” Alfred said through gritted teeth, and his skin was turning rose. “When you speak of the end, my people lose heart.”

“It is too early to feel at loss. The sun still shines,” Arthur said. Then, a smile pricked at the sides of his lips as he continued, “Yet darkness awaits.”

Yao stepped aside from behind the throne, his hand rested on its back and his gaze slipped between Arthur and his King. “I think he’s no Queen, how could he speak of terror with a smile?” he whispered, and Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “You must not be taken for a fool, sire.”

“I never claimed him a fool,” Arthur said, “That all depends on his actions.” Again, the smile lingered at his lips.

Alfred gestured for the guards to grab him. “Keep him in the basement,” Alfred said, “I shall make my decision later.”

Arthur, finding himself surrounded by the guards, did not protest but allowed them to lead him from the hall. As they exited the door, he looked back over his shoulder and said, “You cannot let darkness frighten you lest is has already won.”

Arthur’s words stuck with Alfred, yet he could not believe him to be a Queen. The Queen was meant to appear at the end of time, but as the days passed, nothing in his kingdom changed. The harvest was bountiful. The sun still rose. His people, seeing no darkness approach, calmed and laughed at themselves. “How could we have believed in that guy?” they spoke of Arthur, and even Alfred had to laugh at himself.

“Why was I frightened?” he asked. Yet, when he stood alone on the balcony as he had before stood with his father, and as he watched red and yellow colours cascade across the sky, he wondered, “ _Who is Arthur really?_ ”

Arthur did not silence himself. Whenever Alfred walked to his cell, he still spoke of himself as his Queen, and called Alfred his King. With time, Alfred almost found their conversations entertaining. Wherever Arthur was from, it was very different to his own kingdom, and he believed he could be an outside spy trying to gain valuable information. So he chose his words with care, yet found himself engaged with the lad.

“Tell me of your end,” Alfred said. “You claim to know much about it.”

“First comes the darkness,” Arthur said, “and it engulfs everything, it all disappears. Not even shadows survive. Then comes the cold, and it is like the most bitter winter you have ever experienced and there shall be no relief.”

“Do these tales make you feel better?” Alfred asked. “You always smile when you speak.”

True to his words, Arthur did smile and leaned closer to the bars of his cell. He held his hand out between them, but Alfred did not offer his in return. Instead, Arthur grabbed at the bars and pressed himself as close to the King as he could. “At least come closer,” he said, his gaze darting to the guards on either side of Alfred, “I shall whisper this for your ears only.”

Alfred obliged, albeit with hesitation, and he leaned so close Arthur’s breath slipped warmly across his lobe.

“I smile because darkness makes the light brighter. I smile because cold makes the heat warmer. I smile because there is no beginning without an end.”

His words sent shudders down Alfred’s spine, and the King quickly retreated to his chamber. The words carried a truth he had heard long ago, yet he couldn’t remember how it had been spoken. But he had a relic that reminded him. Buried deep in his closet, he found a little inkwell with red colour inside, and he held it in his hands as he slipped into bed and pondered once again, “ _Who is Arthur really?_ ”

It was in the morning that he was blind. The world around him merged into one and then one became nothing. Alfred could no longer see.

The next morning, he fell ill. Laying in bed, he shivered under the covers, and it did not matter how many blankets the maids brought him, he could not find the heat.

The third morning, his pulse had slowed down so much Yao could hardly feel it. In despair, he walked the palace in agony, and those who heard him speak knew the truth. Their King was dying.

It was as a whisper this reached Arthur’s ears. The guards could not be quiet, and as they thought him too foolish to understand, they spoke amongst themselves about their King. “He will soon pass,” one said, “Then what will happen to us? The kingdom is safe now, that is true. But who will lead a defence if we are attacked? Who will secure our lands?”

It was then that Arthur asked, once again, to see his King. This time Yao walked the cells, and he looked at Arthur with suspicion.

“What is there for you to do?” he asked.

“What is the harm in me doing anything at all?” Arthur asked.

So he was brought to Alfred’s chamber.

There, in the bed, the King laid. His skin was turning pale blue, his eyes moved at their own accord under closed lids, and his hands were clenched in fists to his heart. Arthur did not hesitate, but grabbed his hands and undid his fingers, one by one, until he discovered the red inkwell. He popped open the jar and dipped his fingertips into the liquid before leaning in over Alfred.

“So is the end,” he said, as he painted with the red on top of Alfred’s closed eyes. “The end is dark, and it is cold, but no King shall face the Maker alone.” He lined his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He painted his arms, and his chest, and his stomach, and his legs.

And as he painted, warmth spread through Alfred’s body. Soon, toes wriggled and his fingers relaxed, and his eyes fluttered open to gaze into Arthur’s.

“What happened?” Alfred asked in a whisper.

Arthur smiled and cupped Alfred’s face between his hands. “What is a kingdom without a King? The end had neared, but you shall not face it alone. I am your Queen, and I will protect you, as I was born to, as I shall die to.”

Alfred’s fingers closed around Arthur’s wrists, and he slowly sat up, his nose almost bumping with Arthur’s. “I am sorry I doubted you,” he said. “But you spoke of the end with such calm that I could not think you were my Queen.” And at that, Alfred felt his eyes sting, and tears started rolling down his cheeks. “But I was wrong. I am sorry.”

Arthur smiled and pushed his forehead to Alfred’s as he closed his eyes. “I was calm because I knew the end is just another beginning. Don’t carry fear, my King, all I ever wanted to do was to serve.”

That morning, as the sun rose, as gold and red cascaded across the sky, the two stood together on the balcony and watched it. And as Alfred asked Arthur, “Did you meet the Seer too?” Arthur took his hand and kissed each knuckle before he smiled,

“I am much more than just a Queen.”


End file.
